The Struggle at the Banquet

To the accompaniment of a pleasant symphony, a continuous stream of servants emerged from the kitchen, each bearing a porcelain plate, and flowed into the grand hall.

Upon each plate rested a distinct culinary creation, flanked by gleaming knives and forks.

The servants circulated gracefully around the lengthy dining table, their porcelain burdens held aloft. The moment they observed a guest’s plate nearing emptiness, they would lean forward with a bow, presenting their dish for replenishment.

Guests, reminiscent of how Fú Nī Yà once sliced a birthday cake in her past life, would then deftly use their knives and forks to transfer a portion of the offered dish onto their own smaller plates. Subsequently, they would return the utensils to the servant’s platter, signaling them to continue their circuit around the table.

Fú Nī Yà’s duty, while analogous, held a distinct difference: she carried a bottle of red wine, her responsibility being to ensure that no glass remained empty once a guest had finished their drink.

Frankly, the entire ritual struck one as rather absurd, given that simply arranging the food on the long table for guests to serve themselves would have been perfectly feasible.

Yet, it was a universally acknowledged truth that the nobility reveled in such contrived displays, believing them to underscore their inherent superiority.

As several bottles of wine were consumed, the nobles, who had initially maintained a decorous, soft-spoken demeanor, gradually shed their inhibitions.

Their voices swelled in volume, and the air was punctuated by sporadic bursts of debate and contention.

At the head table, where Albert was seated, Ludwig, positioned not far from him, wore a similarly flushed and slightly inebriated expression as he raised his wine glass in a distant toast to Albert.

“To Your Royal Highness, Fourth Prince,” Ludwig called out.

“And to you, Lord Ludwig,” Albert responded.

In a gesture of polite reciprocity, Albert raised his own glass.

Together, they drained the brandy from their glasses. Immediately afterward, Ludwig’s brow furrowed, and a look of profound regret settled upon his face as he spoke.

“Your Highness’s banquet is truly impeccable,” he began, “the sole imperfection being the absence of one particular person…”

With these words, Ludwig’s eyes drifted toward the conspicuously vacant far end of the grand table.

Among the nobility, even the seating arrangements at a banquet were governed by meticulous etiquette.

Typically, the hosts—the master and mistress of the house—would occupy the extreme ends of the long table. Flanking them would be the principal male and female guests of honor.

All other guests were then arranged strictly by their social standing: the more eminent their position, the closer they were seated to the hosts, while those of lesser rank were relegated closer to the lateral center of the table. Should the attendance be overly large, additional tables would be utilized.

For this particular banquet, Mitchell and Aila occupied the seats designated for the principal guests. While this arrangement deviated slightly from strict protocol, no one voiced any objection. After all, the gathering had not been convened to honor any specific individual, and to overly concern oneself with such trivialities would be to miss the point entirely. Given that Albert remained unmarried, the hostess’s seat was, quite understandably, left vacant.

Albert’s brow furrowed as he watched Ludwig, utterly perplexed by his intentions.

Such a circumstance was hardly unusual among young nobles; indeed, countless individuals remained unmarried, rendering any prolonged focus on this detail quite unnecessary.

At its core, the nobility devised these elaborate rules to underscore the vast chasm between their elevated status and that of commoners, not out of sheer idleness to create discomfort for themselves. If their sole pursuit were mere novelty, nobles would have long since taken to walking on their hands; how could they possibly deign to walk on two feet, just like the common rabble?

Still bearing the unmistakable air of inebriation, Ludwig continued.

“Did Your Highness not acquire a remarkably beautiful half-elf s*ave girl last month, if my memory serves? Perhaps she could… ah, my sincerest apologies, Your Royal Highness, Fourth Prince. I fear the wine has loosened my tongue. How could such a lowly race as half-elves, mere instruments for carnal release, ever be permitted to sit in a place of such distinction?”

“…”

Albert’s hands instinctively clenched into fists.

He now grasped Ludwig’s insidious intent.

Ludwig intended to deliberately expose Fú Nī Yà’s presence in this public forum, then, through veiled and suggestive remarks, solidify the notion of an unsavory relationship between them, ultimately casting a dark shadow upon Albert’s character.

Some matters, after all, might be tolerated in private, but to air them publicly was an entirely different, and utterly unacceptable, transgression.

This was precisely the case with Albert’s acquisition of Fú Nī Yà, whom rumor would now inevitably brand as a mere plaything.

While Albert had, in truth, never laid a hand on Fú Nī Yà in such a manner, would anyone genuinely believe that?

Ludwig had pointedly stressed that half-elves were a ‘race for sating desires,’ and the other guests would, without a doubt, draw their own damning conclusions.

The true facts were irrelevant; what the common populace chose to believe would become the accepted truth.

If this incident could successfully brand Albert with a reputation for lechery, then Ludwig’s objective would be fully realized.

Indeed, a number of the nobles present had already begun to whisper amongst themselves, their faces alight with salacious gossip.

Yet, it was unlikely that anyone in attendance, save for those intimately familiar with Albert, could possibly conceive that his demeanor towards Fú Nī Yà was anything but that of a master towards a s*ave.

In his estimation, Fú Nī Yà was his absolute equal—a truth born from her past life, where she had utterly vanquished him with devastating force.

No man, least of all a prince, could ever admit to being bested by a mere s*ave.

Hence, Fú Nī Yà stood as his equal.

Consequently, just as Ludwig had undoubtedly intended, Albert’s anger flared.

His fury, however, was not sparked by the slander against himself, but by Ludwig’s venomous pronouncement: “How could such a lowly race as half-elves, mere instruments for carnal release, ever be permitted to sit in a place of such distinction?”

‘Fú Nī Yà had been demeaned.’

The being he regarded as his equal had been openly scorned.

He yearned to retort, ‘The very Fú Nī Yà you so contemptuously dismiss as base and despicable possesses a latent power that will one day astound the entire world.’ Yet, his rational mind cautioned him against such an outburst, understanding that it could inadvertently expose Fú Nī Yà’s extraordinary talents and unleash unforeseen repercussions upon his meticulously laid plans.

Consequently, Albert could only manage a strained smile, lifting his wine glass, intending to dismiss the entire affair with a lighthearted, jocular tone.

It was at this precise moment that Aila unexpectedly reached out, pulling a passing maid into a swift embrace.

“W-what!?”

The passing maid, who was none other than Fú Nī Yà, gasped in astonishment as she tumbled into Aila’s arms.

She had been diligently circling the long table, ensuring that no guest’s glass remained unfilled.

She had, of course, overheard Ludwig’s disparaging remarks, but what recourse did she possess? To abandon her duties and create a dramatic scene would only bring immense shame upon Albert, her master, and merely afford Ludwig a moment of smug satisfaction.

Thus, she could only feign the role of an indifferent passing maid, utterly disconnected from the unfolding drama.

Even as she poured wine, and guests cast curious, surprised glances at her distinctive pointed ears, she maintained an impassive, unconcerned expression.

However, it had never occurred to her that Aila would act so brazenly as she passed by.

Fú Nī Yà, struggling to steady the wine bottle clutched in her hand, turned a startled, bewildered gaze upon the young woman who now held her.

“Ai… Your Imperial Highness!?” she stammered.

“No need for such formalities, Your Imperial Highness,” Aila chided gently. “Call me Big Sister Aila.”

“B-Big Sister Aila…”

“Now that’s my sweet little Nī Yà!”

Aila exclaimed delightedly, her gaze then sweeping across the assembled guests.

“As the old adage goes,” Aila declared with a mischievous glint in her eye, “even a fool stumbles upon a moment of brilliance once in their lifetime. This utterly irredeemable dolt, Ludwig, has, for once, offered a truly useful suggestion! That seat absolutely belongs to my little Nī Yà!”

With these words, Aila promptly lifted Fú Nī Yà from her embrace and, with surprising force, deposited her into the vacant seat of the hostess.

Fú Nī Yà, acutely aware of the significance of that particular seat, felt her entire face flush a vivid crimson.

‘I’m not gay, I’m not gay, I’m not gay…’ the young woman’s mind screamed in silent panic.

The other guests, meanwhile, gazed at Aila with expressions ranging from bewildered to utterly speechless.

‘Was she commending Ludwig, or merely deriding him?’ they silently wondered.

‘What exactly did she mean by ‘even a fool stumbles upon a moment of brilliance once in their lifetime’?’

Ludwig himself, his face shifting between pallor and flush, found himself utterly bereft of words.

Despite the audaciousness of Aila’s actions, none of the assembled guests voiced any opposition.

Firstly, her esteemed position as the Grand Commander of the Swan Knights placed her at the apex of all present, and no one harbored the desire to incur her displeasure. Secondly, Aila’s past exploits had been the subject of considerable scandal and fervent gossip throughout Saint Mir City, rendering her current, seemingly outlandish behavior not entirely unexpected.

The very same action, when performed by different individuals, could elicit vastly disparate reactions.

Aila’s audacious move might provoke a few silent grumbles, but if Albert had dared to do the same, he would undoubtedly have been met with an avalanche of condemnation.

“Big Sister Aila, you are being utterly reckless!”

Albert admonished her, his voice sharp with disapproval.

Yet, in the very next breath, he raised his own wine glass, rose to his feet, and addressed the assembled company.

“However, given that Fú Nī Yà now occupies that seat,” he announced, “it would be rather impolite to ask her to relinquish it. Therefore, I implore all of you to regard Fú Nī Yà as our hostess for this evening.”

A chilling undercurrent laced Albert’s words, a subtle hint of an unspoken threat.

With that, he raised his glass and swiftly drained its contents.